My buddy is 6’5″. He’s 25 years old. I am talking about my son who lives in Daytona. So, even though I look short in these pictures, I assure you he got the gene from one of us–Mike is 6’2″ and I am 5’9″. Last week, I got the best gift–a couple of days with him for the first time since Christmas.
Sand squishing through our bare feet, we walked down the soft grains of the shore, coffee in hand. It felt so right with the breeze and the sound of the waves. It was the best company I have had in a while. It didn’t hurt that we had a lot of good food, too–seafood always tastes so good on the beach.
If you have little ones at home and think the days are long, let me tell you how fast it goes. I used to call Greg “Buddy” when he was a kid. It became his nickname, and somehow didn’t end up being “Bubba” like the rest of Texas. Hug your kids’ necks and remember someone warned you that years go by faster. You blink one day and they’re off leading their own lives, living their own dreams. And my buddy is not going to be happy that I call him my buddy publicly on a blog. But he might smile a little secretly to know how proud I am of him and the joy I take in seeing him.
By the way, to narrate the picture show: that is my twin sister, Jen, and Greg’s dog, Rebel, named after his days at Ole Miss, and a beer in my hand–I finally got to sample some of his homemade brew that he had shared with his dad a few weeks ago.
Thanks Angie–I’ll edit this post to include the perfect song: